


i conceal my armoury (yours is all on view)

by peculiar_mademoiselle



Series: dead to all pleasure [2]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Dom/sub, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiar_mademoiselle/pseuds/peculiar_mademoiselle
Summary: Newlywed bliss.Sort of.
Relationships: Count Dracula/Jonathan Harker, Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Series: dead to all pleasure [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604788
Comments: 12
Kudos: 355





	i conceal my armoury (yours is all on view)

Jonathan Harker begins to think of his life as split into two distinct chapters - before Dracula and after Dracula. Before, he’d been a perfectly ordinary English gentleman. His existence was a kind of exquisite mundanity, steady work, a beautiful woman. Maybe one day there would be a house, a family. All of that was lost to him now. He couldn’t even dream of it, the images dissipated immediately, slipping from his grasp like smoke. Replaced by visions of flickering candlelight, shifting velvet drapes and a pink tongue licking claret blood from pointed teeth. 

It had been three weeks since the sun had set on that old life, and the moon had risen on his new one. He’d marked the days with scratches on the headboard of his bed, determined to keep track of the passage of time, desperate not to slip completely into the nightmarish unreality that seemed to characterise vampiric life. When Dracula noticed them he’d just laughed, as though Jonathan had done something adorably quaint. 

The days themselves had been odd parodies of his first nights in the castle. Although he now kept the same sleeping pattern as Dracula, the Count was often busy at night, secreted away  _ working _ . Whatever that meant. Of course Jonathan realised he probably still wanted to travel to England, but whenever he asked he was met with teasing, or obvious lies told with a saccharine sweetness. He was learning quickly that the truth often lay in what Dracula didn’t say, as opposed to what he did. 

So, England. The place in him that once would have filled with joy at the thought of returning now filled with icy dread. Going back would feel like returning to one’s childhood home as an adult, and finding the house in a state of disrepair, vines crawling up the walls, windows shattered, the nursery filthy and rotting. 

For good or ill, this castle was his home for the time being. He’d even began to explore it a little, to look on it without fear. After all, nothing in any of those shadows could hurt him now. He’d ventured back to the attic, hoping to find a modicum of company in his fellow brides. But to his disappointment, he found that Dracula hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d described them as beasts. One of them snapped at him like a dog, while the other ignored him completely, rocking and pulling at her greying hair until it came away in tufts. Though, he had found a library, and the books inside were his only solace. He pushed away the knowledge that he could only read them because of the language skills he’d stolen from the terrified villagers his host had dragged to his room and let bleed out on the floor.

He was cross-legged in bed reading tonight, when Dracula came to him. He always let himself into Jonathan’s room without knocking. The whole notion of a separate bedroom, a door, was nothing more than an illusion. A nicety that they both knew should be observed, but wasn’t really. 

“Johnny!”

Dracula swaggered towards him, wearing only a white shirt and black trousers, with a few shirt buttons undone, exposing his chest. 

Grinding his jaw, Jonathan pointedly doesn’t look up. 

“Oh, darling, don’t,” Dracula says, mock-wounded. He begins to play with Jonathan’s newly regrown hair, twining it in his fingers. 

“Don’t what?” he grits out, still staring at the last word he read. 

“Play with my heart like this,” Jonathan doesn’t have to look up to know that Dracula is smirking as he speaks. 

“What heart?” Jonathan says, idly turning the page. 

Dracula seizes his chin at that, forcing him to meet his gaze, black on blue. Amusement is still playing around the corners of his mouth, but it’s coupled with buried malice. “You wound me,” he whispers. He almost sounds genuine. Almost. 

Jonathan sighs before whispering, “I just want to be alone.”

“That isn’t what you were saying last night,” Dracula says, bringing their foreheads together, and pushing his other hand under Jonathan’s collar, caressing his bony clavicle. 

It pains Jonathan to admit it, but he’s right. To his eternal shame, there hasn’t been a night when he hasn’t relented and let Dracula stay. 

Being fucked by Dracula is unlike anything else he’s ever experienced. It’s animalistic, and brutal. Dracula growls and snarls, biting and sucking at Jonathan’s neck and chest and back, leaving bloody scratches with his claw-like nails. He feels like he’s being ripped apart and put back together, dirtied and then licked clean. 

Even worse, when it’s over, the loneliness of his empty days is crushing. Crushing enough that Dracula’s arms feel like a harbour. He’s clung to him and let himself be petted, because he can’t bear to pull away. To fall asleep cold and alone.

Tonight though, he wants to at least finish his book. 

“I’m trying to read,” he says, lifting the tome.

Dracula purses his lips and sighs dramatically, “Fine, you can read.”

Jonathan is pathetically grateful, wrenching his head free immediately. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Dracula chides, placing his hand flat over the pages, “you can read, but I say how.”

“What do you mean, how?” Jonathan splutters. 

“Lean over the bed, feet on the floor, chest down,” he says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. 

Sighing in annoyance, Jonathan complies, hoping that once appeased Dracula will succumb to boredom and wander away for a while. 

“Happy now?” he huffs, feeling confused and ridiculous in equal measure. 

Dracula stands, setting himself behind him. 

“Almost,” he says, before slipping down Jonathan’s trousers and underthings, leaving him naked from the waist down. Jonathan gasps, scrambling up, but Dracula is quicker, and holds him down, his body stuck at a right-angle at the edge of the bed, cheek pressed into the sheets. 

“You were being very rude, darling. Did you think I’d let that pass without punishment?” Dracula’s voice is silky, and the hairs on Jonathan’s neck stand on end. 

“You said I could read,” Jonathan whines, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. 

“And you will. Read to me,” Dracula says, loosening his grip, allowing Jonathan to raise his head a little. 

“What?” Jonathan can feel angry tears pooling in his eyes, but he won’t let them fall. 

“I told you to read,” Dracula repeats, caressing Jonathan’s bare behind.

Taking a shaky breath, Jonathan begins, “‘I know he has a bad nature,’ said Catherine: ‘he’s your son. But I’m glad I’ve a better, to forgive it; and I know-”

The slap is a shock. It shouldn’t be, in hindsight, but it is. It knocks his whole body forward, and with it the breath from his lungs. 

"Keep going,” Dracula commands. 

“And I know he loves me, and for that reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff you have-”

The second spank is just as strong, but he powers on. 

“You have nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from,  _ ah _ , from your greater misery. You are miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and,  _ ah _ , envious like him? Nobody loves you,  _ ah,  _ nobody will cry for you when you die. I wouldn’t be you.’”

Dracula picks up speed, groaning under his breath at the gasps his ministrations are forcing out of his bride. The sound of slapping between Jonathan’s soft and shaking voice is perhaps one of the most beautiful things he’s ever heard. 

Jonathan is rocking in time with the slaps now, quivering and moaning as the line between pain and pleasure dissolves. 

Eventually Dracula’s rhythm slows, and Jonathan gives up reading, his words lost beneath his panting. His arse is red and throbbing, and gorgeously hot beneath Dracula’s now soft caresses. 

“So beautiful, Johnny,” Dracula murmurs, pressing kisses to Jonathan’s back and neck. 

Jonathan’s whole body is quaking, he feels like he’s floating, suspended in dark water. The only real things are his own pleasure, and the touch of Dracula. He feels lost, and unmoored, but not unsafe. There’s a far-away part of his mind that knows he’ll wake horrified tomorrow, and that part of him watches in horror as he reaches back and entwines his hand with Dracula’s.

Dracula squeezes it, and basks in his triumph. 

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, Secretary is your girl's fave film. 
> 
> Jonathan is reading from Wuthering Heights.
> 
> So I made this a series, enjoy! Do let me know what you think! x
> 
> Title is from Angela Carter's poetry.


End file.
